


See-through

by LaughableLament, Nisaki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Breathplay, Insecure Sam Winchester, M/M, Praise Kink, Recently Established Wincest, Sam in stockings, Shaving, The slow painful transition to monogamy, post-episode 01x13 Route 666, self prep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki
Summary: Sam’s desperate and dumb, but he has to get his brother’s attention. He has to find out for sure if he can ever be enough.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 58
Kudos: 247





	See-through

**Author's Note:**

> LL: It's a singular pleasure to carry a concept from kinky image to smutty romance. To do so with a treasured friend, in celebration... I don't have the words. Thank you, Nisaki, for this, for everything. You are my whole heart! ♥

He stares at the hair as it goes down the drain. Leg over the tub edge, foamed up with the cream he’s bought. Supposed to make him soft and smooth. Truth is, no cream in the world is going to make him as soft as a woman feels, as _she_ looked, but he’s trying. Smells good, at least: Subtle, flowery. 

His bare skin feels weird, air tickles once he steps out. Wet and smooth. He’s laid down his supplies on a towel over the toilet lid. His razor is trashed now, clogged with pulled and tangled hair. Girly lotion too, can’t use his aftershave. The lube, Dean picked up four or five towns back, when he added fucking Sam to their routine. 

His fingers glisten with it, he’s not used to doing this himself, but he’s playing up the illusion. Women don’t need prep. 

Women, the ones Dean never stopped picking up. 

Sam doesn’t take his time, not like Dean does. Stretch and sting make him grit his teeth. He takes more, pushes lube inside, rocks on his hand. He thinks about the look on Dean’s face, when he finds he can slide right in. Sam works until he’s hard, figures that’s enough. Inspects himself. Shears off stray hairs, rubs in more lotion.

On his bed, the stockings he’s bought are stacked, four small boxes. He picks one and sits down, rolls it up, passes it over his toes and heel. Big clumsy hands, it’s a miracle he manages to pull the first one on. The other gets torn on a hangnail. It’s fine, he bought them cheap for this, has three more tries before he ruins the whole thing. A part of him wishes they’d all tear so he doesn’t have to go through with it, the bigger part goes slower on the next stocking. 

He doesn’t need another trial. The stay-up bands settle on his mid thighs, scratchy, tight at the end. Smooth nylon somehow prickles against his skin. 

The lacy tops swish against each other as he walks to the mirror. His legs look good, black filmy sheen over his shins and knees. Dark at the edges, outlines trace and lengthen his calves, his thighs. 

His feet are hideous. Nothing he can do about that. 

Perhaps white stockings would’ve suited his skin tone better, or maybe Dean would prefer something more daring—red, or hell, garterbelt and panties—but black felt like Sam’s safest choice. 

He passes his fingers through his hair, still wet from the shower. Fluffs it up a bit. It’s too short to style. Sam’s curls hook wide and reluctant, sticking out at his neck and around his ears. He looks...fine. Not pretty or delicate. If anything the stockings are a contrast with his size and build, muscly thighs, bony hips. No curves. 

Nowhere near as pretty as Cassie. 

Her arms round up where his bulge, his chin sharp, shadow of hair already there. She’s smooth and small. Dark, welcoming, and soft.

She just had to appear when Sam was hyping up to talk to Dean about the girls. The random hookups were bad enough, but Dean loved Cassie, told her about the job, told her everything.

Even when he’d been shopping for rings, telling Jess had never crossed his mind. 

He huffs and turns, can’t look at himself. Screw it all to hell. He bends down, hand on the left stocking, ready to take it off. 

The door opens. “Dude. I couldn’t find a fuckin’—” sound of takeout bags hitting the floor. “Sammy?”

Sam looks up and gets caught in Dean’s gaze. His brother is frozen, wide-eyed, his mouth open. Sam would laugh but he’s too embarrassed, face heating up.

Dean’s dumbfounded expression turns predatory. He slams the door, takes two steps and he’s in front of Sam, grips Sam’s hips. He doesn’t say anything, pushes until Sam back-walks and sits on the bed. Dean’s bed. 

Less than ten seconds, Dean’s naked. Only the amulet around his neck.

Dean drops to his knees, calloused hands on Sam’s thighs.

“These for me, Sammy?”

Sam isn’t breathing right, and Dean’s stare lights him up. He squeaks out a yes before Dean’s fingers clamp down on his flesh and Dean drags him so he’s sitting right on the edge, holds his gaze as he catches the band of one stocking with his teeth, pulls it up and lets it snap back against Sam’s thigh. Sam moans, feels Dean’s lips curl into a smile. Dean grips Sam’s ankle and lifts it to his mouth. His teeth graze over the nylon, arch of Sam’s foot, then sink in. Sam yelps. Quick kiss and Dean’s tongue trails up, over the bone in Sam’s ankle, long wet strip chased with more kisses. Behind Sam’s knees, fingers clutch his calves, massaging and kneading. Lips trace his thigh where the stockings end, tongue pokes inside the opening and Sam can feel Dean’s scruff through the lace, coarse and itchy against the soft nylon. It catches on the flimsy fabric, tears it up. Sam watches as Dean pulls back and runs a thumb down the ladder of black striping Sam’s pale thigh, twists the strands together and scratches Sam's sensitized skin.

Dean growls, latches his mouth there, sucks harsh and insistent. Leaves a red mark. Sam’s lungs burn and his heart hammers. High-pitched, desperate moans fill the room, and Dean switches his attention to the other leg. Makes his way up, bites at the crease of Sam’s thigh, and adds another bruise over his hip bone. 

Hands behind Sam’s knees, Dean spreads him wide, pulls again. Sam falls back, bucks his hips down into Dean’s tongue. Dean moans, licks deeper.

“Fuck, Sammy, you finger yourself?” Breathless. Dean tickles around, swirls inside. Beard burns between Sam’s cheeks, lips press and soothe. “Get all wet and ready for me?” 

Sam ripples. “Wanted it to be easy for you...like,” Dean inserts a finger, Sam jolts, “like a girl.”

Dean stops, Sam’s legs dangling over his shoulders. Sam props himself on his elbows and catches the frown on Dean’s face. 

“I can, Dean,” he pleads, “be whatever you need, just gotta let me.”

Dean sinks back to his heels, eyes up. “Dude, is this…” he gestures at Sam’s stockings. “This ain’t about…”

Sam pulls his knees together. Nylon rustles. 

Dean launches himself on the bed. “Get the fuck up here.” Pats a pillow. Sam scrambles to obey. Settling between his legs and hovering above him, Dean holds Sam’s chin with one hand, forces him to look up. 

“Not about the girls,” Dean says, fingers dig into Sam’s cheek.

“But Cassie—”

“Ain’t you,” Dean cuts off, firm. “ _No one_ is.”

Sam wants to argue, wants to ask why, but he can’t, not when it could open Dean’s eyes to all the ways Sam isn’t what he wants. He slides his hands up Dean’s arms, over his shoulders and down his sides. He keeps them there, nails scratching over muscle and bone. Dean’s gorgeous, always is. Naked and built and shiny with sweat. Sam can't believe he could ever be enough for Dean, ever measure up.

Dean lowers himself, chests line up. He can feel Dean’s dick, hard against his thigh. Hooking his legs around Dean’s waist, Sam pulls a bit. Dean thrusts right in, both groan. 

Opening himself up ahead of time was all for this, Dean fucking into him without pause. Dean doesn’t move, locks eyes with Sam and tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair.

Gentle touch of lips forces his lids down. “Love your eyes, not just because they’re beautiful, but because of how people can tell how smart you are just by looking into them.” Dean kisses his ear, “You listen,” breath tickles on the lobe.

“This mole,” thumb over it, then along his jawline “the way your stubble catches on my lips when I do this.” Dean kisses him, pries Sam’s lips apart and licks inside. “You taste like my favorite beer.” Dean sits up, head of his dick brushes over Sam’s prostate, makes him gasp. 

“Your neck.” Dean’s fingers ghost his throat, his teeth and tongue trace the same path. A kiss over a scar on Sam’s chest, then one on his right arm. “I love these,” Dean licks the scar, Sam shivers. Dean mouths his chest, sucks on a nipple. Sam pushes up into Dean’s touch, rocks his hips, and tightens his legs around Dean. “They tell me how many people you’ve saved.”

Dean’s fingers thread through his and Dean lifts his hand up, kisses his knuckles, “Your beautiful, capable hands. Put me back together, patch me up. Love your hands, Sammy.”

Sam writhes, his heart beating loud in his ears. Dean finally moves, slides out then in again, slow drags of his dick drives Sam crazy. 

Dean’s still kissing his chest, massaging his arms, movements shallow like an afterthought. “You’re hard all over, so strong, Sammy.” The next thrust nails him. Sam arches off the bed, clings harder to Dean and fucks down. Dean laughs, “So strong, but you’d let me do anything to you. And you can take so much _more_.”

He wraps his hand around Sam’s neck, and Sam gasps, bares his throat completely. 

“So hot, baby brother. All mine.” Dean presses down and cuts Sam’s air. Sam hooks his fingers on the cord of Dean’s amulet, pulls him into a kiss, chokes himself on Dean’s tongue. 

Dean picks up the rhythm, fucks so hard the bed squeaks. Dean lets go of Sam’s neck and grabs behind his knees, bends him in half and pounds into him. Sam slides up the bed with every thrust, violent pleasure makes his toes curl. Dean keeps it up, his grip hard, and he’s biting down over Sam’s collarbone and pectorals, twisting the flesh. 

Sam feels his orgasm building up, just a bit more. 

Dean gets a hand on his dick, leans closer, mouth near Sam’s ear. “Love your pretty dick, Sammy. All hard and dripping for me, no girl can give me this. No one can give me this.” One jerk of Dean’s wrist and it’s over. Sam cries out, ribbons of white cover his stomach and Dean’s hand. 

“Fuck, Sam.” Dean’s thrusts go harder, then he stills. His muscles convulse, his breath hitches. Sam feels the come filling him up, Dean pushes it deeper with halting fucks. 

They kiss for long moments after, then Dean pulls out and licks Sam clean.

The stockings are ruined, one bunched around Sam’s ankle and the other torn almost to pieces. Dean guides them down like he wasn’t just ripping at them with his teeth, careful fingers and soft lips over the exposed skin. He throws them over his shoulder and climbs onto the bed, pulling Sam into his arms. Sam is all too happy to go. 

They’re sweaty and covered with come, but they don’t move. Sam closes his eyes, enjoys the feel of Dean’s hand sliding up and down his back, and petting over his hair. The sound of Dean’s heart right under his ear. He’s nearly asleep when he feels Dean’s lips on his crown.

“No one ever did that for me before,” Dean says against his hair.

“The stockings?” Sam rolls his eyes, “Dean, come on. You telling me none of the girls you were with had some on?”

“Not for _me_.”

Sam opens his mouth to protest again but then he gets it. Dean hooks up with girls in bars, all of them dressed up for a night out. They never thought about Dean, what he’d like, picking out stockings, putting them on.

“So you liked it?”

Dean curls his fingers under Sam’s chin, tilts Sam’s head up. “Did you?”

Sam meets Dean’s eyes, remembers the way Dean looked at him, how he fell to his knees and kissed Sam’s hideous feet. He feels good, powerful.

“Yeah, Dean.”

Dean smiles, “How do you feel about red, Sammy-boy? Thinkin’ a garter belt and some panties. Wear ’em under your Fed threads, tease me all day.”

Sam laughs. “I love it.” 

It takes a few moments for the sweat to dry and his skin to cool down, and once it does Sam shivers with more than just the cold. He knows he shouldn't ruin the mood, but the words tumble out of him anyway. 

“About the girls…” he sounds like a jealous bitch; he shouldn’t ask for more when Dean has told him in every way besides saying the words that he loves him, but the fire in his chest won’t let him be. 

Dean groans, “You’re too smart to be so stupid, Sammy,” he says, and Sam is preparing a scathing retort but Dean takes his left hand, the one Sam’s put on Dean’s stomach. He kisses each one of Sam’s knuckles then he takes off his ring and slips it onto Sam’s third finger. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he feels his throat clogging up, his pulse racing. He turns his head, kisses right over Dean’s amulet.

“So,” he starts, a bit raspy, “how do you feel about white? You know, under the tux.”

Dean’s laugh bursts out of him, warm and happy. “I love it, Sammy.”

Sam entwines their hands and closes his eyes. 

Dean’s heart lulls him to sleep. 

  
  


-End

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love. We're on tumblr! [laughablelament](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/) & [Nisaki](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/), [fic post here](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/612396531610517504/sams-desperate-and-dumb-but-he-has-to-get-his)


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